


Hot potato

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel, M/M, vague porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin was a good prophet. He was intelligent, and clever, and terribly dangerous when he needed to be, although unassuming and small most of the time. The thing about Kevin, was that he endured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot potato

Castiel does not remember much of the first time that he met prophet of the lord Kevin Tran. A lot of his memories are fuzzy at the edges from that time. He can remember telling Dean a joke and blowing out the lights in the mental hospital, he can remember being scared by the man’s anger and fleeing, but he does not remember much of the quiet prophet that had shook scared in the corner clutching the tablet to his chest.

He does remember showing up in the car when Meg called him some indeterminate time later. He remembers seeing Kevin clearly then, calling him a hot potato, because it was supposed to be something light hearted and amusing to diffuse the tense situation of the car which felt like it would erupt into a fight soon – at the least between Meg and Dean. Kevin was just a young kid then, he wasn’t even out of high school, cast head first and violently into the life that Dean and Sam had known their whole existences.

Kevin was a good prophet. He was intelligent, and clever, and terribly dangerous when he needed to be, although unassuming and small most of the time. The thing about Kevin, was that he endured. Through things that most humans could not fathom, Kevin kept on and he was immeasurable help to the Winchester’s cause, which was by proxy often Castiel’s cause.

The angel does not know what has stirred up these old memories, now, when he’s just a human in dirty clothes hungry and seeking refuge in the safe walls of the bunker. But many things about being human confuse him. There are beautiful things, and terrifying things. Human memories, associations, are strange.

Dean stated that he needed to leave, and he understands, but he was granted at least several days to recover before he was cast out. They had dinner that night in the kitchen and Castiel tried not to eat too fast when his hungry stomach seemed to be eating itself if he didn’t shovel down food faster. Burgers, and baked potatoes. Perhaps it was a means of Dean’s apology.

Perhaps that’s what had Castiel thinking about potatoes later that night when he was roaming around the bunker, nervous, unable to sleep. He felt better, after having food and a shower. But rest would not come. It appeared it did not for the prophet either, who was in the library pouring over several books spread out on the table beneath soft yellow glowing lamps.

Castiel came up behind him, Kevin so deep in thought he barely heard, and in attempting again to be light hearted in the way he thought was pleasing to humans, he said “Hello little hot potato.”

Kevin startled and turned towards him, the younger man looking up and blinking. “Wh.. what?”

“Hello.”

“Uh, hi Cas.”

“I don’t know why, but the potatoes Dean served at dinner made me think of the first time that I met you.”

“Yeah, you were pretty crazy back then huh?”

“Yes.”

“So….. why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up?”

“Because there’s never an end to the things that need to be researched.”

“Ah.”

Castiel blinked, sitting in a chair beside Kevin. He had comfortable clothes on now, Dean called them pajamas when he gave them to Castiel, and his hair was still damp from the shower, face freshly smooth from shaving.

Kevin still looked too tired, face too drawn and wan, so Castiel crossed the space between them and booped him on the nose.

There was a stretch of red flush across Kevin’s cheeks, and Castiel had no idea what it was but he liked it. So he spread his fingers to cup Kevin’s face, the skin there soft, his eyes wide and warm. Despite all he’d seen and done, Kevin was still young and energetic and full of so much promise. It was refreshing.

“Cas, what are you, what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, but I find your bodies reaction interesting. Are you happy Kevin?”

“I…… I guess. Yeah.”

Castiel was vaguely aware of the minute shifts of interaction between their bodies which indicated flirtation or seduction of a sort. It was different from an angelic perspective and from a human perspective. There was a heat under his skin and a desire to touch, for contact, to know another human being in a closer context, to give of oneself and to take. He had observed human’s mating rituals plenty of times as an angel. Participating in one was odd, though not unpleasant. It was a means for humans to give comfort to one another was it not?

There was something telling him to lean closer, to curl his hand around the back of Kevin’s neck, to tilt his head to the side just so. The quiet in the library was heavy, the scrape of his chair on the floor scooting closer with a small twitchy movement loud, but Kevin mirrored his motions, head tilted just so, eyes narrowed perhaps in confusion but appearing relaxed.

Their lips contacted, and it was a sweet warmth, the distance between them closed, Castiel could feel the heat from Kevin’s skin and where his hand slid against the other’s neck he could feel a pulse. He believed he understood why this was so addicting to humans now, to feel another life beneath his hand so closely, to feel another’s breath across his skin, and know that despite the distance between their minds and experiences and beliefs there was one small thing connecting them, even it was only their bodies, it was something lovely.

Somehow, Kevin had dragged him back to a bedroom, there was a scuffed old cello sitting in one corner, a photo of Mrs. Tran on the desk by a stack of books which Kevin flipped down before pulling Castiel closer to the bed. The room smelled of old parchment, stacks of books from the library littering free spaces in an order Castiel could not discern but knew existed. Kevin lay down on his bed, Castiel tumbling after him, settled between the young man’s legs, pressing kisses to his lips and then Kevin showed him that kisses were as good – better in their own way – on the skin of the jaw, the neck, the shell of an ear, the exposed skin of a chest when Kevin pulled his shirt over his head.

His body was young but his mind was well beyond the conventional temporal progression of human catalogue. Castiel found himself naked, skin pressed to flush skin, in the dim light of Kevin’s room, kissing and touching and indulging in the sins of the flesh. He could not comprehend, how this could be a sin, why his Father would decry the touch and comfort of another body. Yet it seemed worshipful to Castiel, as he pressed his lips to Kevin’s body, from the curve of his clavicle down to the jut of his hipbones. Perhaps that was why, perhaps it was so blasphemous to covet a thing as transient as the body, as one might covet the love of the Father.

Kevin’s hands were small, and warm, and light as they spread across Castiel’s back, touching all the aching hollow places where his wings used to spread deep through the muscles of his body, but the prophet couldn’t possibly know. He guided Castiel, with his fingers and his tongue, till he wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist and pulled him in close, bodies twisted up together, and it was more than Castiel knew it could be.

He had experienced sexual intercourse before, with Daphne, with April, but it was not like this. And he didn’t know why, why this was so much more, why it swelled in his chest and made his hands tremble, but he was grateful to Kevin for showing him this.

It was almost too overwhelming, transcending the physical, and Castiel did not know a human could experience more than their limited body could provide, but as Kevin pressed up against him, hands twisting into his hair, lips against his neck, there was far more there than he could name or even touch.

Castiel worried that Kevin’s expression was pained, face scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to hurt the prophet. Stilling, Castiel stroked his hands over Kevin’s slender hips, the muscles of his stomach quivering. Kevin looked at him, blinking, hands across his shoulder blades.

Castiel reached across the space between them and touched his finger to Kevin’s nose.

“My little hot potato.”

It sent Kevin into a fit of laughter, and Castiel gasped when he felt muscles clenching around him, hot and tight and oh, oh, he came inside Kevin as the prophet laughed and it was joyous.


End file.
